The Resulting Rivalry
by Ren Minase-chan
Summary: Two boys have been enemies since they first met in Diagon Alley; but what will happen when Draco Malfoy is slipped a love potion and begins to lust after his arch-enemy, Harry Potter? Due to popular request... This will be continued. : D
1. Tempting Reality

Draco Malfoy stared at the goblet of pumpkin juice before him. "You say that Pansy Parkinson gave this to you?" he asked, turning to his lackey. The rather fat boy named Goyle stared at him blankly for a moment then nodded dully.

"You're sure _no-one else_ gave it to you?"

"Yeah," Goyle said thickly.

Malfoy shrugged, looking out the Slytherin common-room window to see none other than that sniveling coward _Potter_, walking down the hallway towards the Great Hall. He sighed and drank the goblet's contents, and a strange expression appeared on his face. It didn't exactly _taste_ like pumpkin juice. It tasted like peppermints, and oranges, _and_ pumpkin juice, all together but also at different times.

Such things happen when if comes to love potions.

•••

Harry Potter stood in the Great Hall, watching Ron study. Exactly _what_ he was studying, he didn't know, but… it was amusing. Clearly, the red-haired boy was not enjoying the task at hand; he was grumbling to himself and a rather pissed-off expression was on his face, and the tips of his ears were red.

"What are you _doing_?" Harry asked, trying to stifle his laughter. His laughter came out like a dog barking—a short blast of air that was rather awful sounding.

"What are _you_ doing? Just standing there, with absolutely nothing to do?" the Weasley retorted, glowering up at Harry over a pile of textbooks and parchment.

"No. I'm watching you study." The black-haired boy mumbled.

"Well… you're distracting me."

Harry sighed. His best friend was in one of his moods. _Again._ "Fine. I'll just let you alone." He turned, an exasperated frown crossing his lips. "Since you're so busy _studying _even though your Charms exam is in a half-hour."

"_WHAT_?" he asked, eyes widening. "Why didn't you _say_ that?"

"You didn't ask."

There were shuffling sounds as Ron searched for his textbook. "Oh, bloody hell. I can't find my book."

"Want me to go get it? I mean, since you're busy with other stuff?" he asked, caving. He couldn't stand arguing with Ron, even though it had happened many times since their first year.

"Would you?" Ron asked, a wide grin appearing on his face.

"Sure. It's in the common room, right?"

"No, it's under my pillow."

Harry nodded and walked towards the common room—only to be stopped abruptly by three people: two rather large, and one rather gaunt and skinny.

•••

"Going somewhere, Potter? Off to see your Mudblood friend, Granger?" Draco Malfoy asked, his arms folded over his chest in a would-be-tough pose. 'Would-be,' because he really didn't look it.

"It's really none of your business, _Malfoy_." Harry said, saying the pale boy's name with vehemence. He genuinely hated the Slytherin boy.

"Well, you refused my offer in first year. You still sure you don't want to be with _the best_?" Malfoy leaned back against the wall, nonchalantly, as if there was nothing wrong with what he was asking.

Harry's eyes widened slightly. "What exactly are you asking?"

"I'm just wondering if you'd like to try and be friends."

_Friends? The word _friends_ isn't even in his vocabulary, _Harry thought. "No way."

"Are you sure?" Malfoy asked, walking towards the black-haired boy, his pale grey eyes meeting his vivid green. His hand reached out, grabbing the clasp of the Gryffindor's cloak, pulling him almost alarmingly close. Close enough to kiss.

Alarms went off inside Harry's mind. He hesitated, then struggled back. "What kind of _f-friendship_—" he stammered the word cautiously, "—do you mean?" he asked, swallowing.

"Do you really want to know?" Malfoy said, thin lips pulling into a frown. "I can show you." His grip on Harry's cloak tightened, refusing to let him go.

Harry gulped as the blonde boy stepped closer, closing the space between them. "N-no. I s-still refuse." He said nervously. It was obvious that the situation was against him. After Malfoy graced him with a complete minute of _silence_ that seemed to last an eternity, he managed to stammer out, "L-look… Malfoy—you can't really be serious about this—"

"But what if I am _completely _serious?" Malfoy asked softly, holding Harry's frightened gaze.

"I-I don't think y-you are, Malfoy. You c-can't b-be—"

"Can't be what?"

Harry's face flushed. "I—we couldn't—even if we _wanted_ to, which we don't. It's w-wrong."

Draco Malfoy's grey eyes flickered, sliding down Harry's body. "You don't seem very sure about that."

"B-but it's _wrong_!" he cried out, finally managing to break free of Malfoy's grip. "What if s-someone finds out? What will we do _then_?"

"You're just in denial." Malfoy said, snickering at the raven-haired boy's flustered reaction. "I'm sure you'll come around." With that, he turned and left, Crabbe and Goyle following him, both of them unfazed by what had just happened. They hadn't exactly been paying attention.


	2. Captivating Dream

_Draco woke up to music being played, but he couldn't place exactly _where_ it was coming from. Slightly startled that the loud music hadn't woken up Crabbe, Goyle, or the other roommate (whose name Malfoy hadn't bothered to ask or to remember), he sat up, pale grey eyes wandering the room. He did heat the music coming from the common room, he was sure. It seemed rather distant… With an exasperated sigh, the blonde made a rather rash decision _not_ to go in bed and try to ignore it. He would go and _find_ the noise, and punish whoever was making it for waking him up. "Lumos…" he whispered, and the tip of his wand. Although he was certain he wouldn't get caught, he made the light dim. Just in case. _

_He listened carefully, trying to pick out exactly where the noise was coming from. At first, in the dormitory, Draco had thought the music to be from a violin, but now he wasn't so sure. It had a deeper sound, richer and darker than any noise callable from a violin. It was enchanting, intriguing, even slightly indulging, and beckoning him closer and closer towards the dungeons. The grim rooms were rather familiar to the Slytherin, the dark space bearing no sign or warning or treachery. It was kept rather dim even in the daytime, when he had Potions. As soon as the door latched closed, the music stopped abruptly, as if the one playing it was suddenly away that they weren't alone. _

"_Who's there?" Draco asked the dark room, wand out defensively. He turned, brightening the light form his wand, searching every corner of the room, and every space between the corners. There was a loud crashing sound, and Draco turned quickly towards it to see nothing but a cauldron that had been knocked down, spinning lopsided on its bottom. _

"_I know you're there. Maybe I _won't_ hurt you if you show yourself." Malfoy stepped forward towards the desk from which the cauldron had fallen. Lying underneath the desk was a black hard-case, laying open to reveal a sleek silver instrument, about as long as the desk, and looking something like a cello with twelve strings instead of four._

_But the person who had been playing it was nowhere to be found._

_Malfoy stood up again, looking around, waving his light towards the door, which was creeping open of its own accord. He stumbled forward, around desks and cauldrons, dropping his wand. The light went out, and he stared blankly into the darkness, shutting the door quickly. Then he stumbled back and grabbed his wand, casting a spell again to brighten the room._

_Harry Potter was standing right in front of him._

"_What are _you_ doing here, Potter?" he asked, crossing his arm and gracing the black-haired boy with his infamous scowl._

"_None of your business." Potter mumbled, pulling his wand out also. Just in case._

"_Were you waiting for me?"_

"_No."_

"_Really?"_

_Potter crept closer, eyes narrowing. "Do you_ want_ me to wait?"_

_Draco felt his eyes widened slightly, and his wand hand shook slightly. It didn't shake in fear or in anxiety, but in some feeling in his stomach almost like anticipation. "No. I don't." He didn't back away._

_Draco watched as Potter reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, and, for some strange reason, he didn't resist; he remained perfectly still, even as the other boy's hand slid down to his chest, sliding down to rest on his hip. _

_Potter's bright green eyes flickered slightly, glancing down Draco's body in a way that implied he liked what he saw. A thin line of a smile crossed over his mouth. "Well, what did you want earlier today?_

_"Wh-what did I want?" Draco swallowed, unsure what the other boy meant._

_"Yeah… What were you offering?" Harry asked, his smile widening at the other boy's apparent confusion. _

_"I—I don't r-remember!" he whined, eyes closing. He mentally slapped himself for sounding so _weak_—because he _did_ sound weak. If his father had heard that, he would definitely have been in trouble. Even worse, _Potter_ had heard it. "I mean—what does it matter? _You_ don't want it."_

_Potter's eyes widened slightly incredulously, and he laughed. "Really?" he turned, as if to leave. "Prove me wrong." He walked towards the door, the bizarre string instrument forgotten, and rested his hand on the doorknob; mentally, he counted down: _5…4…3…2…1…

Zero.  
_"Harry, wait."_

_He waited for two whole minutes in silence, silence that was rather suffocating and anticipating. Then he turned the knob again..._

_"Harry..." Draco bit his lip, crossing quickly to the other boy, placing a slender-fingered hand on the other boy's shoulder. "Don't leave." His voice sounded slightly pleading, begging, and he mentally slapped himself again. He _hated_, absolutely _hated _appearing weak. And begging was a definite sign of weakness. His father had nothing to do with it; more than anything, it was his _pride's_ fault that he preyed on the weak. _

_"Why shouldn't I? Obviously, you're not going to do anything," Potter said, a slightly irritated tone lying under the careless voice—the irritation was as sharp as a dagger and stabbed Draco viciously, and he mentally flinched._

_"Wh-what makes you think that?"_

_"How you're reacting. You don't _sound_ very into it."_

_Draco was silent; in fact, he was quite blatantly silent, and it sent suffocating tendrils around Harry's mind, constricting, tightening. Harry frowned just slightly and pulling Draco closer, his face—his mouth—his lips—were extremely close to the other boy's. _

_Draco gulped. But he didn't want the other boy to back away. He wanted him even _closer_ still, he wanted to feel Harry's hand's on his back, his hips pressed against his groin, his lips against his own... Then he shook his head. _That_ kind of thinking wouldn't get him _anywhere_. Nowhere, nowhere at all. _

_Manic laughter bubbled in Draco's throat, trying—struggling—to flood quite nervously over his tongue and through his lips, struggling—dying—to burst out and reveal some sort of sign of his want—his need—his urge. He swallowed the laughter, and it slipped easily into his stomach, where it stayed, dissolved by the acid residing there. "H-Harry..." he whispered. He seemed to have swallowed his voice, too._

_ Harry pulled back just slightly. "Do you want me to stop?"_

_"No..."_

_"Good." Harry pulled Draco against him gently, kissing him deeply and holding him... Just in case he tried to get away. He didn't._

_Draco's eyes closed slowly. He couldn't _begin _to describe__ how he felt. It was bliss and ecstasy and a million other beautiful—yet sick— things, little needles of pleasure shooting through his stomach and his groin. His mouth opened involuntarily, invitingly, extremely indulgently. Then he felt Harry's __tongue inside his mouth and his eyes snapped open, and his mind went into overdrive. He squirmed against Harry, eyes wide. He pulled back, but just barely. "What are you _DOING_?!" he cried, trembling._

_Harry laughed, a little nervously. "You act like you've never kissed someone before."_

_"I—I have! J-Just... just n-not..."_

_"Not a guy?"_

_Draco was silent, staring at the stone floor before him. "Why are we doing this?"_

_"Because we can."_

Draco Malfoy's eyes snapped open, and he stared around his dorm room. _What the _hell_ was with that dream?_ he asked himself, his pale face flushing deep read. His body was trembling, full-on _shaking_, simply because he couldn't understand why he'd had that dream, nonetheless why he had _enjoyed_ it. His eyes closed briefly, his hand flying to the bridge of his nose, massaging it. He was trying to calm himself down, but his heart was racing, his breathing was heavy, his entire body felt hot with pleasure and anticipation; he ended up failing completely, giving into the pleasure and sinking back into that strange and feverish dream.


	3. Indecisive Longing

_Harry's breathing was coming out in ragged bursts, his hand already sliding down Malfoy's chest, finding the hem of his nightshirt and slipping it under the fabric, his fingers dancing up his stomach and down his side, latching onto his back and pulling the other boy closer to him, his mind spinning, trying to metabolize just what his counterpart was feeling, his thoughts frozen to the moment, focusing solely on the pulse at the base of Malfoy's neck, the gap between his Adam's apple and collarbone. The skin there was twitching upward and back, quite visibly, and his chest was heaving, trying to contain the heart that was beating so rapidly._

_Malfoy pulled him closer still, his hips rubbing raggedly against Harry's, minute moans, softer than whispers, escaping him, sending a strange feeling of warmth and pleasure into his stomach and down farther south. His eyes closed and his head tilted back, mouth opening while his throat constricted, allowing no sound to be released. His hand shifted, running down Malfoy's spine and hitting the sensitive area between the small of his back and his hips, pressing into that space and then running two fingers along the line of the other boy's spine. _

_Malfoy's moans intensified, and Harry felt a mix of feelings in his stomach— a combination of nausea and pleasure. The pleasure began to overwhelm the nausea as Malfoy tilted his face down and kissed him deeply, his tongue running the line between his lips._

_Harry gasped and his mouth slid open, granting Malfoy access... and through the tangle of emotion he felt good._

_His eyes shut against the pleasure building deep within him, and tilted his head against Malfoy's mouth, his tongue sliding against Malfoy's, his hand sliding roughly down the blonde boy's back, holding his hips against Malfoy's._

"…_Harry…" Malfoy whispered, the first time he could remember calling the dark haired boy by his first name. His hands slid down and his fingers slid tangled through fabric and the metal attachments of Harry's jeans._

_Harry's eyes widened and a slight, hissing gasp slid through his lips. He struggled slightly although his hands gripped Malfoy's shoulders of their own accord, proving the effort completely fruitless. He backed, pulling the thin boy with him, until his back rammed into a desk, the thud of body on wood audibly reverberating through the silent classroom. He was trapped..._

_Or maybe trapped wasn't the right word?_


End file.
